The World is Mine
by smiththefifth
Summary: A story of child prodigies, arrogant aristocrats, art heists and the lack of honour among thieves. Oh, and somewhere along the way boys fall in love with other boys.
1. Exposed

**Chapter One - Exposed**

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* * *

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_Potter Prodigy Exposed_

_July 18, 2010 - Muggle Newspaper, The New York Times, reported that celebrated child prodigy and talented pianist, Albus S. Evans, debuted his first Carnegie Hall concert. The paper went on to report that Evans had one of the highest tested IQs in America. What's more, at the tender age of eleven, Albus Evans has now been accepted to Harvard University, which is considered one of the most prodigious universities in the world. _

_If you're thin__king to yourself this boy is too good to be true you may be absolutely correct. _

_Now, more than seven years since that first Carnegie concert, the prodigy's true identity has emerged. Albus S. Evans is none other than Albus Severus Potter, third and youngest son to Chosen One, Harry Potter. _

_But does this mean Albus will abandon his Wizarding heritage for the Muggle world? Sources say Albus has received his Hogwarts letter but it is unclear at this time whether or not he will be attending. With his talents he could very well be one of the most talented wizards of the age. It would behoove him not to waste such an opportunity but only time will tell._

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* * *

_

Albus hated parties. Far too many people crammed into too little a space. It was a waste of time and certainly not where an eleven-year-old boy belonged. But when said boy's father was Harry Potter, saviour of the Wizarding World, he had little say in the matter. Since his return to England not six months ago there had been a party of some sort to attend every weekend without fail.

He doubted that these ridiculous appearances were the idea of his father who like himself had a preference for seclusion. His mother, on the other hand, was quite the socialite and loved nothing more than showing off her brilliant and talented children.

So he found himself here at the Rare Manuscript Preservation Society's Fundraiser Dinner. It occurred to Albus that it was less about raising money to preserve and honour rare manuscripts and more about raising money to keep rich, grumpy Ministry officials rich.

_This entire institution is a farce, _Albus thought bitterly. If they actually cared about rare manuscripts perhaps they could set about reviving the Library of Alexandria instead of sitting around pretending the organization served any purpose at all.

He scanned the crowded room for anyone remotely interesting, a difficult task considering his surroundings. He settled on the familiar face of his cousin, Rose Weasley. Skilfully excusing himself from the group of Ministry children, he strode to her side.

"Good evening, Rose," he said with calculated indifference.

"This is a party, not a funeral," she snapped, "I don't see why you complain about it so much." She crossed her arms over her chest and looked him over appraisingly. "Smile," she commanded, "the Minister is coming this way." She was practically bouncing with excitement.

He would never understand her love of these things but he'd long ago given up arguing with her. Talking to her was a bit like negotiating with a brick wall.

"Good evening, sir. This event surpasses even my expectations," Albus said as the Minister approached. It didn't, but he was being polite as per his father's request.

"So glad you two could make it, a pleasure to see you as always. Have you spoken to Emily Binns this evening? Lovely woman, no one more educated on the history of this glorious event. Too bad she had to go and bring the Malfoys. Horrid family if you ask me." He paused and glanced around nervously, as if just realizing what he had said. "But you didn't hear that from me," he amended. His lips formed a sparkling smile, paving over his social faux pas.

Albus smiled out of obligation but he had already stopped listening.

"Of course Minister, I think the Malfoys are delightful as well. We are to start Hogwarts with their son, Scorpius, next fall," Rose answered, her smile mirroring that of the Minister's.

"Right well, excuse me children, important matters to see to." With that the Minister left them and disappeared into the throngs of people.

"How the mighty have fallen, to elect such an imbecile as the Head of Government," Albus commented. His obligation to be polite ended as soon as the person left his sight.

"Oh hush, he's never been anything but nice to you." She smiled and dismissed Albus' comment as she always did. "You just need to get out more. Maybe if you left your room once in a while you wouldn't be so deathly pale," she said as she grabbed his hand and led him around the room.

"I don't know what you mean," Albus remarked flippantly. He should have known better than to talk to her. It never ended well for him.

"You practically glow in the dark." Subtlety had never been her strong point.

Albus chose to just shut up. It was the only surefire way to deflect her. She was like a bullet train, once she got on about something there was no derailing her.

Knowing it was best to stay on Albus' good side, Rose gracefully changed the subject. "So Hogwarts this fall, aren't you excited? I am, oh the things we are going to learn. It's about time we had our chance. It's no fun to be the youngest when everyone else has already left for school. I've only been dreaming of this day since..."

In reality he was not excited about Hogwarts in the least but his mother had insisted. So he continued his exercise in ignoring Rose which was rather easy since his attention was suddenly very much occupied by something else.

It hit him like a ton of bricks, nailed him to the floor and negated his ability to form coherent thought. So he stared, his mouth hanging agape.

Noticing his shift in attention, Rose followed his gaze. "Did someone important walk by?" she inquired.

"No, Rose. You shouldn't end sentences with prepositions, by the way." he said in an effort to distract her. She hated when he corrected her grammar so he made it a point to do so whenever possible.

She narrowed her eyes, searching for the truth in his. There was no escaping now. Sure, dealing with her was as tedious as reading _Nicholas Nickleby_ but no one could fault her perceptiveness.

"Scorpius Malfoy isn't worth your gaze. You know about his family. People like that don't change, so leave it," she instructed, flexing her ego a bit. Albus nodded to appease her and she continued her talk about school and other such matters.

But Albus was in a different world entirely.

He'd heard of Scorpius, of course. Everyone knew of the infamy attached to his surname. But nothing could have prepared Albus for actually seeing him. The blond practically radiated perfection and something about him just dared Albus to stare.

So he did.

He didn't know it at the time, but that night sparked something. That night was the beginning of Albus Severus Potter's longstanding obsession with Scorpius Malfoy.

Many things conspired that night. A rebellion planned, a new Minister chosen, a wife left behind for another. But nothing held the same gravity as one boy seeing the other.

**What? **It's almost like Evolution except without all the spelling errors, glaring plot holes, and annoying, two-dimensional characters. I know, I was shocked too.


	2. The Second Hour

**a/n **it might be a good idea to brush up on your art heist history before reading this.

**Chapter Two - The Second Hour **

Albus Potter had never been particularly social, he never had to be. Because of his prodigal status the people who mattered sought him out for social engagements. Anyone else existed only to be looked down upon or ignored completely.

His father was the only exception.

Most of his family treated him like a circus sideshow or acted as if he was a burden on them all. It all depended upon how they viewed the term 'prodigy'.

Harry, on the other hand, was certainly proud of his son for his accomplishments but never treated him any differently for it. And ask anyone; highly intelligent children with a high sense of superiority need someone like that.

After realizing this Harry made sure to stick close to his son and became his vigilant companion. For the past few years their connection had diminished; Harry had been promoted to Head of the Auror Department and Albus was busy taking the world by storm. But even through all of that there was no way Harry would allow his son to venture off to school without one more jaunt around Diagon Alley.

Albus would have spent the entire afternoon in Flourish and Blotts, if left to his own devices. But Harry didn't always share his son's love of literature so he hurried them out to Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"You know, Hogwarts has a rule against first years having a broom but I'm sure they would make an exception for you."

"I don't want a broom," Albus answered.

"But you'll make a brilliant Quidditch player. It's in your blood," Harry continued enthusiastically.

"I'm not going to play Quidditch," Albus said with a definite finality.

"Oh… well sure. Right. Sorry if you feel like I'm forcing it on you, Albus. You don't have to play." Harry's voice was thick with disappointment.

"You already have James and Lily for that, Father."

"I suppose that's true. Maybe I'm just used to you being, well, like me. But you're growing up, becoming your own man," he gushed. Truth be told, Albus had been 'his own man' since the age of three but fathers have a way of forgetting things like that.

He lost himself in thoughts of the adventures his son was sure to have. But somewhere in the middle of it all he noticed Albus chewing the nail of his little finger which could only mean one thing.

"Hey, Al, what's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

"I don't want to go."

Harry was shocked. How could he not want to go to Hogwarts, the first place he himself had ever felt at home? He was overcome with sadness.

"I don't belong there," Albus explained. "I was supposed to go to Harvard. Prodigies hit their peak at this age and I'm wasting it going to-to." He couldn't even speak the name.

Harry just smiled and shrugged off his son's complaints. "You're going to love it. There's so much to learn, so many books. You like those, remember?" he chuckled and ruffled his son's hair. "And your cousins will all be there," he added, as if that would help.

Albus smiled tried to pretend his father's words held any value.

"Do you want to go back to the bookstore and we can get you something there?" Harry asked, already knowing the answer. And indeed Albus did. There was a book he'd been eying earlier but asking for such things was decidedly beneath him.

But now that his father had offered he felt no shame in accepting. In fact, you might even say that he'd planned it perfectly. Albus was nothing if not an excellent planner.

* * *

Every year on the last day of August the Ministry of Magic sent a car to the Potter residence, loaded their trunks and escorted them to King's Cross Station. If she didn't have any parties to plan or deadlines to meet their mother would accompany them and if the Wizarding population was kind enough to keep itself out of trouble their father would as well.

Both occurrences were becoming exceedingly rare and this year was no exception.

It wasn't as if Albus Potter cared whether or not they were there to see him off. He was much too busy trying to decide if a biography on Morgan le Fey or a text on Gamp's law would be better reading material for the train ride. Finally he settled on taking both, along with _The Norton Anthology of Poetry._ Just in case the first two weren't enough, best to be balanced after all.

James and Lily and launched into a discussion about how the Quidditch teams would turn out and who would take the House Cup this year. Somewhere in the back of his mind Albus knew that James was the youngest Seeker since his father before him and Lily wasn't far behind. None of it mattered to him so he took out a book and tuned them out.

For most first years the process of disappearing through the barrier into a station that didn't officially exist was a bit unnerving. Albus had seen it countless times, small children clinging to their parents until they were forcefully pushed through the brick wall, cowering all the way.

It was his favourite part of the whole ordeal.

He himself had been through the process at least three times each year for as long as he could remember. The only difference this year was that he actually had to leave with the train instead of before it.

As soon as his cousins spotted them in the car park Rose latched herself to his side. He groaned and she dragged him along through the barrier and onto the train. He wondered if she would put a 'no others allowed' sign on the door but no, no sign. Instead she decided that talking nonstop in her screechy, know-it-all voice was enough to keep others away. Albus didn't bother to pretend he was listening. She loved the sound of her voice enough that she failed to notice when he pulled a book from his bag and settled into the seat.

Once the train started moving the door of their compartment was flung open and a small girl waltzed in, seating herself next to Albus. For the first time in several minutes Rose shut her mouth and studied the intruder. She had a face comparable to that of a pug, all scrunched up but adorable just the same.

"And you are..." Rose asked, offended by her rudeness.

"Rilian Cunningham," she answered without looking at the other girl.

"Lovely to meet you, Rilian. I'm Rose Weasley. You won't likely get an introduction from him," she gestured to Albus who was engrossed in his text. "But that's my cousin, Albus Potter." She paused for a moment to let the weight of their surnames sink in. If Rilian saw the importance of the names she sure didn't show it. She just turned to address Albus.

"It's polite to greet people when they enter the room," she said to Albus

"It's polite to knock before entering a room uninvited," he responded without looking up from his book. Her mouth caught somewhere between a smile and a sneer.

"What are you reading," she asked after a minute.

"A book obviously," he answered.

"_The Five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law_, my how absolutely fascinating_,_" she said with a sarcastic bite.

Albus looked up from the book this time. He decided it was best to alienate her now as he already had Rose to annoy him and she certainly didn't need any help.

"Cunningham, how nice to make your acquaintance. Are you here just to insult my reading habits or did you need something else?" Albus not so much asked as snipped.

"I'm here because everywhere else is full. Insulting your choice in books is just an added bonus."

"Well mission accomplished, congratulate yourself on a job well done. I'm quite busy but I'm sure Rose wouldn't mind keeping you company. You seem dim-witted enough to enjoy her mindless chatter and perhaps you two can just talk yourselves to death." He sighed and went back to reading. Talking to people of such minor intelligence was exhausting.

Rose took that as a sign to leave him alone. Rilian, however, was a bit more persistent.

"We're always taught that food can't be transfigured but what are the other exceptions?" Rilian asked with actual curiosity.

Albus was slightly peeved that this girl couldn't take no for an answer but decided to allow himself a chance to show off a bit. "Money, otherwise we would all be rich, intentional curse damage, you can't reverse Dark Magic, the dead, which can't be resurrected,"

"And weather," Rose finished for him, pleading for attention.

"We weren't actually talking to you, and do you even know what Gamp's Law is? Do you know anything outside of what you've read in your encyclopedias?" Rilian sneered and looked down to Rose's Hogwarts history book.

Not quite sure how to respond to the insult Rose went with her usual comeback, "My uncle, _Harry Potter_, could fix the weather if he wanted. He's that powerful," she smiled in her usual haughty way and turned to Albus for support.

"No, he couldn't," he stated simply before exchanging the textbook for Morgan le Fey's biography. He glanced at Rilian, daring her to interrupt him again.

She didn't.

Rose stared intently at her feet and Rilian dug a novel from her bag. Albus was very pleased to finally have silence.

Unfortunately for him neither girl allowed him out of their sight during the long trek to the castle. Albus sighted heavily; it was going to be a long year.

The negativity didn't last long though. He amused himself by comparing the levels of terror in the First Years' eyes. Girls generally looked more frightened than boys and Muggle-borns were particularly easy to locate. But overall everyone looked far more terrified now than they had at the barrier. Albus didn't even know that was possible. He smiled.

Headmaster Ogden stood centre stage with the Sorting Hat in hand. Professor Hagrid was at his side, calling students up from a long parchment list.

Albus attempted to watch the Sorting but it was all rather dull. Watching paint dry or grass grow would be more interesting in his opinion. It was all rather monotonous. Things picked up for a minute when the Bulstrode girl was sorted into Slytherin. A dramatic hush fell over the Hall and Albus swore he saw a girl wet herself. He chuckled and went back to ignoring the proceedings.

"Finch-Fletchley, Sophie!" A small blonde girl stumbled forward. The Sorting Hat barely touched her head before declaring her a Hufflepuff.

"Rotten luck," Rose commented. Her mood was much improved since Rilian had left Albus' side and found her place at the Ravenclaw table.

"It hardly matters where you're sorted," he said, dismissing her comment. You would think it was a meeting of the five families with the way everyone else was acting. Albus wasn't so easily impressed.

He watched as Trevor Longbottom was sorted into Gryffindor. The table's cheers were loud enough to echo off the walls and repeat themselves. Albus shuddered. He didn't care for loud noises.

After what seemed like an eternity his own name was called. He strode to the stage and looked out at the Hall. It wasn't as exciting as people liked to believe.

The hat didn't respond well to that thought and if it didn't have a job to do, probably would have dolled out a lecture.

"Another Potter, eh? I bet you want to be sorted into Gryffindor like the rest of them," the Hat drawled in his ear.

"_It's not like it matters though, is it?"_

"A mind that thinks itself ahead of the rest, Slytherin then, perhaps."

"_I grow old as you sit pretending to hold substance. Sorting is just numbers. Maybe they should retire you and employ a Sorting Abacus instead. I'll make this easier on you, you've sorted four into both Slytherin and Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, five, and Ravenclaw, two. Let me guess, better be..."_

"RAVENCLAW," the Hat bellowed in a voice would put a Sonorus to shame. It was safe to say no love was lost when he was pulled from Albus' head.

Albus was likewise pleased to be free from the monstrosity of a hat and found his way over to the Ravenclaw table. Hesitantly, he chose a seat next to Rilian. It wasn't exactly matching friendship bracelets but it was a start.

"A Potter in Ravenclaw," she said, voicing the thoughts of every other person in the Hall.

"Really? I must be lost then." She responded by elbowing him in the side. He was shocked that he let her get away with such antics.

"Let's keep you away from any maps then. I've always wanted an Henk to my Octave."

"I don't get caught." Rilian drew her lips up in a smirk.

"But we don't know the names of the ones who don't get caught, now do we?"

Albus just smiled and served himself a slice of treacle tart. He was beginning to think this Hogwarts business wouldn't be so bad after all.

As per tradition the House Prefect collected the First Years for a quick tour of the castle. Both Albus and Rilian thought themselves above the ritual. Once Roy Davies led the rest off to the common room she motioned for him to follow her back into the Hall.

A few students were still congregated there, among them the infamous Scorpius Malfoy and his band of merry men. Albus' immediate reaction was to run away but he didn't tolerate weakness like that in himself. He walked along side Rilian with pseudo-confidence.

"Malfoy, good to see you again. Congratulations on making Slytherin. Though was there ever any doubt?" Albus' stomach twisted in an uncomfortable manner. His body's reaction to this boy was starting to annoy him. Really, he had to pull himself together.

"Ah yes, Cunningham. Still running away from your family name, I see. And who's this?" he questioned, gesturing to Albus. "Already have an underling, then?"

"Hardly an underling, we're art thieves." Albus saw the confusion on Malfoy's face and couldn't help but chortle at the joke.

"Albus Potter," he said to answer the unasked question.

"A Potter? I'm impressed." Malfoy raised his perfectly manicured eyebrow. "They say you're clever but you don't look so quick to me," the usual arrogance in his voice accompanied by challenge.

"I never tell anyone exactly how clever I am. It would only scare them," he answered, dismissing the challenge and meeting the arrogance twofold.

"As in, if I have a jar of lemon drops you can tell me how many there are?"

"As in, if I answer your insipid questions will I be emancipated?" Instinctively, Scorpius took a step back. He didn't particularly like people who knew the answers before he did. His mouth formed a menacing sneer, teeth bared for the world to see. Albus didn't bother reacting.

"You are and henceforth shall be free," Scorpius quoted from the famous speech.

"Wrong country."

"But is it not a standard the rest of the world, including this country, strive to meet? So I think it's safe to answer the aforementioned question."

"That was a very smooth, nicely done."

"Your approval is wasted on me. Though the answer to my question, which you are skilfully avoiding, would be less so."

"Was I really? I was unaware."

"How demure."

"I try."

"You succeed."

"I always do."

"Are you sure this room is large enough to house your abnormally swelled head? Perhaps the rest of us should evacuate."

"Now, now. Would you like me to answer your question or would you like to take a few more laps?"

"No, I've grown weary of our game."

"I've never been fond of lemon drops. Find another jar and we shall play again."

"You have a talent for this game. Brilliant really, just ace."

"You're a worthy competitor. But it seems we've lost the audience somewhere along the way," Albus said as he turned to Rilian. Her face was a contorted mess of confusion and concentration. Malfoy's minions hardly faired any better.

"I suppose it's high time they're treated to simpler form of communication. I'll see you around, Albus Severus Potter." The way his name slid from Scorpius' lips sent a shiver crackling down Albus' spine.

"I suppose it's inevitable." Scorpius started out of the Hall before looking over his shoulder to speak to Rilian.

"Say hello to your mother from me, Cunningham. I'll tell my father you came by. That is why you're here is it not? Consider your familial obligation met." He arranged his lips in his usual smirk before continuing out of the Hall.

Albus turned to do the same, beckoning Rilian to follow.

"You know," Rilian started once they were in the comfort of their own common room, "Under Dutch law thieves have legal claim to their stolen work if it's not recovered for thirty years."

"If they can prove they committed the crime," Albus clarified.

"Think you can settle for caught then?" she asked, a knowing smile played at the sides of her mouth. Albus just shrugged and waved her off.

"Goodnight, Octave."

"Cheers, Henk."

No, perhaps this Hogwarts business wouldn't be so bad at all.


	3. Ophidiophobia

**a/n **i would give up walking for skipping if it was more practical.

**Chapter Three - Ophidiophobia**

Study Hall was easily Albus' favourite part of the day. It wasn't because he needed the class time to work or revise or whatever nonsense the other students got up to. His marks were spotless but it was the principal of the thing.

Usually the room was deathly silent save for the scratching of quills on parchment but today Madame Pince had excused herself from class, trusting that the students could tend to themselves.

Thus, the room was abuzz with conversation.

Albus was prepared for that. He had always possessed certain talent for blocking out the world especially when armed with reading material. What he wasn't prepared for was the boy who, without warning or introduction, seated himself next to him. He sat close enough that their thighs pressed together. Albus cringed at the unnecessary contact.

As if that wasn't bad enough the boy had the audacity to speak to him. "Word on the street is you're pretty clever."

Albus didn't respond and refused to meet the other boy's gaze. He already knew it was Wickham Turner – Fifth Year Slytherin, son of Mo Turner: imprisoned, low-end thief - and decided that no good could come of prolonged exposure.

"Wickham Turner. I do not appreciate being interrupted."

Turner just grinned like a madman. "You know who I am. Nice, very nice."

"I know everybody." With anyone else this might come off as arrogant but with Albus that wasn't the case. His memory simply refused to let him forget a name or a face.

"I was wondering if you wouldn't mind doing some consulting work," Turner continued.

Albus knew his classmates didn't take his sharp witticisms very well and in many cases, reacted violently. He'd discovered that running about and throwing hexes wasn't for him. In light of this he refrained from issuing a biting retort and hoped Turner would leave on his own.

"Albus Potter, fancy seeing you here. And with a book no less. Colour me surprised." Rilian sang rather than spoke the words as she skipped to Albus' side. "And who is this? Have you actually managed to stay civil long enough to make, gasp, a friend?"

"He's not supposed to be here," came the reply. And it was true, the Slytherin was a year ahead of them and therefore in the wrong class.

"So he was just leaving?" she asked as she slid into the seat across from Albus. She stared at the intruder, her eyes sparkling with unspoken threats. Unlike her best friend she had no problem with hexes or causing general mayhem.

Finally the awkward, slightly menacing tension grew to be too much for Turner and he made to leave. But, of course, not without reminding them he was still an annoying gnat. "Er so yeah. If you change your mind just come find me." With that he scurried from the room and back from whence he came. The Slytherin Common Room, to be exact. He rationalised the abrupt exit as 'regrouping' but it wasn't likely his partner would see it that way.

"I can't believe you couldn't even get him to talk to you. Some charmer you turned out to be." Luc Toulour had been mocking his friend's failed attempt at coercing Albus Potter for the better part of an hour.

Wickham wanted to protest but he thought better of it. Besides, what kind of con man was he if he couldn't even wrap a little Fourth Year around his older, wiser finger? The failure kind, obviously. And Luc would see that that wasn't forgotten.

From the other side of the common room Scorpius Malfoy scoffed. Over confident buffoons like them is what gave the Slytherin House a bad name.

"Got a problem there, Malfoy?" Wickham snipped, finally tired of Malfoy's unwanted commentary. "This is a private conversation."

"Fuckin' tossers," Malfoy cursed under his breath. "Albus Potter is stone cold brilliant." He punctuated every word as if brutally stabbing it. "You can't flip your hair, bat your eyelashes and expect him to come tottering after you like a blushing school girl."

"Think you could do better then, do you?" Luc growled.

Scorpius laughed. He hadn't actually meant to push them this far and he knew he should just back down and leave them to it. But the anger that radiated from them basically demanded he keep on.

"Yes, actually. I think I can." Sure, he didn't exactly know what they were planning but he was a Malfoy and Malfoys never failed.

Well, almost never.

"Fetch the Potter boy then. Convince him of how great you are if you're so confident."

"What are you half-wits planning to do with him?" Scorpius asked with forced apathy.

"Bring him to us and maybe then we'll let you in on our little scheme." Scorpius felt ill. He hated the word 'scheme'. It sounded so plebeian.

"We could either continue this absurd run-around or you could just tell me now and save a bit of time," Scorpius drawled as he took to examining his nails. He'd broken one in Potions today and for the life of him couldn't find his nail file. He knew he shouldn't have gotten out of bed this morning.

Luc looked at Wickham who looked at Luc and they silently conversed. Things weren't going to plan but that didn't have to be a bad thing. If they could get Malfoy in on it then they would have a fall guy if things happened to go south. Malfoys made such excellent scapegoats.

The silent deliberations concluded and they nodded to each other. Luc delivered the news. "Tomorrow, after class. Meet us in the library. We'll discuss it then."

Scorpius sneered. Nothing was quite as amusing as amateurs pretending their school yard pranks were equivalent to the Big Time.

"Fine, I'll see you then." He collected his bag from his chair and started toward the door, pausing to lean on the doorframe.

"Don't let all this planning get in the way of your Potions essay. Befuddlement Draught, tricky stuff. And Professor Borage would be so disappointed if you let your_ extracurricular activities_ get in the way of your studies." And with that Scorpius was gone.

Wickham swallowed around the lump in his throat and tried to speak. "Um so c-correct me if I'm wrong, but we d-do have a P-potions essay due tomorrow, yeah?" Luc nodded in agreement. "On Befuddlement Draught?" Another nod. "A-and Malfoy is a y-year below us, not in our class, not even in the d-dungeons on the same day?" This time Luc gulped audibly.

They stood frozen, wondering what in Salazar's name they had just gotten themselves in to.

* * *

Everyone knew that Albus Potter practically lived in the library. It was partly because he went through reading material like the rest of them went through Honeydukes sweets and partly because he was a walking cliché. Scorpius figured it would be easy; find the boy, woo the boy, convince the boy to plan dastardly deeds with him. Unfortunately when one is dealing with Albus Potter things rarely go as planned.

You see, Albus had this clingy little friend who was decidedly on the side of _good_. This friend, Scorpius knew, would never in a million years allow him to fall into Scorpius' evil clutches. It was all very inconvenient but nothing Scorpius couldn't work with.

He was nothing if not a very patient lad.

Day after day he sat in the library and watched Albus read for hours on end with little Cunningham planted firmly at his side.

It was rather dull work but on the bright side he was getting an obscene amount of homework done. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd finished an essay _before_ the day it was due.

And so went his life, until one late Friday afternoon when Albus was mysteriously without his pesky counterpart. Scorpius could have danced a jig if it weren't so terribly undignified. With as much casual aloofness as he could muster he strolled up behind the armchair Albus occupied.

Logically he should have had a Plan of Attack, Malfoys always had plans. But the moment had snuck up on him and he wasn't likely going to waste such an opportunity. He figured he would just wing it. Probably not the best of ideas, given who his target was. But as Malfoys always had plans the also always underestimated their opponents. There was no arguing with genetics. Although he knew all of this he kept walking, determined.

"A book, how novel," he said from behind Albus' armchair, chuckling at his own joke.

Scorpius expected the boy to jump or cry out in surprise. He seemed easily excitable.

There was no response.

"What is it today? Numerology? Advanced Potions? _The Encyclopedia of Mushrooms_, perhaps?"

Again, nothing.

The minutes ticked by slowly and Scorpius grew increasingly awkward. He fidgeted, rocking back and forth on his feet. Just as his stubbornness was about to give out Albus spoke.

"Nothing so exciting," he said, lifting the book over his head so the other boy could see.

"_Lara and Don Juan_. Muggle poetry, I should have guessed."

"Jew-un," Albus corrected.

Scorpius frowned. "No, yo hablo espanol. Es Juan," he argued, pronouncing Juan, 'WAN'.

Another long, awkward pause. Albus' eyes were glued to the page. Scorpius sighed, opened his mouth to speak, and then sighed again.

"The meter loses it's poetic integrity if his name isn't bi-syllabic," he explained.

"Fascinating," replied Scorpius, in a way that would suggest that it was anything but.

"Actually, what's really fascinating is why someone of your social stature would spend so much time alone in the library. This can't be good for your image," Albus said, his eyes still scanning the book.

"I don't know what you're on about, Potter. I love the library. It's nice, quiet."

Albus sighed heavily. He hated having to explain someone's own motives to them. Deliberate stupidity was insulting to his intelligence. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Are you always such a cynic, Potter? You'll go prematurely grey that way."

"Look at that, I'm in the presence of the next Lord Byron."

"Eternity bids thee to forget," he said, quoting the only line from the poem he knew. He liked those words, they explained so much about human nature.

He leaned down to whisper in Albus' ear. "Tomorrow at noon, the Muggle History section." For the briefest of moments Albus could have sworn he felt a tongue sweep over his auricula. He shuddered.

By the time he composed himself and turned around, a witty retort poised on his tongue, Scorpius had disappeared.

Albus took a few deep, calming breaths and mentally berated both Malfoy and himself. Malfoy for being such a sneaky prat and himself for being so vulnerable.

He wanted to be disinterested. He wanted to ignore the other boy and pretend the past few minutes meant absolutely nothing to him. But somehow he could only be aggravated.

Aggravated that he had to wait a whole twenty-four hours before seeing Malfoy again.


	4. Being Human

**a/n **we interrupt your regularly scheduled program for a message from our slash sponsors.

**Chapter Four - Being Human **

The worst kept secret in Hogwarts was that Albus Potter had a soft spot for a certain Slytherin. But what can you expect with an emotional sister with a flair for the dramatic.

In what she called a 'lapse of judgement', Lily Potter had not-so-discretely told her friends that her 'brilliant' brother wasn't quite smart enough to see Malfoy as the slimy git he was. In fact, he was so intellectually challenged that he considered cryptic conversations him more exciting than Quidditch.

After all that fuss Albus still refused to attend Quidditch games.

There were no ill-timed songs about snogging in trees but news traveled like wildfire. Even certain blond Slytherins had to take their noses out of the air and take note.

He'd not thought anything of it until now. Now it was his key to success.

At twelve on the dot, he crept through the library so as not to disrupt his reputation too much.

As he suspected Albus was already there, deeply entranced in a punishing-looking book. Scorpius leaned up against one of the bookshelves and cleared his throat, expecting he would notice.

But as he was learning, Albus Potter so rarely did what he expected.

Not one to be ignored he took to the less subtle.

"So what's your flavour of the day?"

"Who's yours?"

"Mature," Scorpius commented. Albus shrugged and went back to his text.

Not a paragraph later he felt a warm body settle in next to him. A warm body that kept a steady regiment of toe tapping and finger drumming.

Albus possessed unrivalled focus but apparently not when it came to Malfoy's with a penchant for interrupting and a horrific sense of rhythm. "_An Ideal Husband_," Albus said, finally giving up his plight.

"A play, I should have known."

"How could you have known?"

"You're very abnormal."

"And normal people would be reading _The Encyclopedia of Mushrooms, _then?"

"No, they eat regularly."

Albus frowned."I eat," he defended.

"You have two food groups, caffeine and sugar. In all that reading you've never come across government health regulations?"

"Health charts and food pyramids are just government propaganda. Like that whole eight glasses of water thing, just a myth. You really only need to drink water when you're, get this, thirsty."

"_Common Sense _was 'just government propaganda'. Does that depreciate it's value? It's historical impact?"

"_Common Sense _was _political_ propaganda, different adjectives."

"So you're argument is that any propaganda released specifically by the government is negative but other forms are okay?"

"I don't have an argument. This isn't a debate, it's a library."

"Everything is a debate, Potter. Though you're lack of an argument could be an issue. Do you want a moment to formulate one?"

"Why am I here, Malfoy?"

"Are we speaking literally or metaphorically?"

Albus sighed and dug his fingers into his perpetually disheveled hair. Talking to people was tedious but talking to Scorpius Malfoy absolutely exhausting.

"What do you _want, _Malfoy?"

Scorpius stood up and elegantly brushed off his still-perfectly straight robes. He held out his hand for Albus to take. "Up," he said.

Albus took a moment to weigh his options. He could (a) take the hand and allow himself to be led somewhere embarrassing and/or unsafe or (b) go back to Oscar Wilde and ignore the suspected sociopath.

Of course, he took Scorpius' hand and let himself be pulled away from his beloved library.

"Where are we going?"

"To see the London Elephant Parade."

"Malfoy."

"Driving with Clamenza."

"Seriously." Albus was now to the point of pleading.

"The fifteenth broken moon of the Medusa Cascade."

"Is it going to be terribly dangerous?"

"Is Andrés Cantor capable of making any sport exciting?"

Albus huffed and fell into the role of a petulant child. He tugged against Malfoy's hold on his hand and whined something spectacular.

Scorpius' patience only lasted so long. "We're going to tickle some fruit. There, happy?"

No, he was anything but, but he decided it was in his best interest to follow the obviously deranged Slytherin and hope that he would be released relatively unscathed.

Fate, as it seemed, was not on his side.

Though it turned out that Scorpius had been entirely honest. They did in fact tickle fruit, a pear actually, which became a doorknob which opened the door to the kitchens.

"The kitchens," Albus ventured, "you're going to suffocate me with food?"

"Obviously not. Our conversation has come full circle." Albus chewed the nail of his little finger, trying to decipher what the boy was talking about.

"You're going to feed me?" he tried, still very unsure why he was there.

"And you're finally catching on, excellent. You're a bit slow on the uptake. Aren't you supposed to be some kind of freaky genius boy?" Scorpius teased.

While Albus stood speechless he went to fetch Winky, his favourite House Elf. She was a bit of a lush but she made lovely sandwiches.

"I'm a prodigy not a genius," Albus corrected as Scorpius came back with a plate of Hungarian cheeses to tide them over until the House Elves brought real food.

"What's the difference?" Scorpius asked as he popped a cheese square into his mouth.

"Geniuses discover unknown things. Prodigies learn known things quickly," he explained. He expected a million more questions since that was the route so often explored. His family, other students, psychologists, reporters, teachers, they were all the same.

However, it seemed that Scorpius sought to break the mould.

"So prodigy, tell me something."

"You're left-handed but you force yourself to use your right because it's more aristocratically acceptable. Also, did you know King George VI was left handed but forced to write with his right? He was also knock kneed and forced to take the throne-"

"You resent your mother for forcing you into this school," interrupted Scorpius, not one to be outdone or forced to listen to endless babble.

"She's only my father's wife. You can't force a parental relationship from a biological accident," he spat through bared teeth.

"Not interesting, stay on topic." instructed Scorpius.

Albus rolled his eyes but obeyed nonetheless. "You were rather portly as a child."

"How did you-"

"Stay on topic, Malfoy," Albus mocked.

"You were blacklisted by the Ministry at the age of nine."

"They said I was risking the exposure of Wizard kind by fraternizing with Muggles," exclaimed Albus, obviously still peeved over the ordeal.

"Not interesting, Potter."

Albus groaned, he was starting to detest that phrase. "You colour your hair bimonthly."

Scorpius flinched. No one was supposed to know that.

"Your birthday was last month," he said, ready for the game to end.

"Not interesting."

"Of course," he conceded. "But it is interesting that there were a few too many candles on the cake."

"Drop it, Malfoy. Is this some sort of trick?" he asked, feeling very uncomfortable.

"Knockturn Alley girls do tricks. This was—" Scorpius was saved from further explanation by the appearance of Winky. Her hands shook violently as she set a plate of chicken sandwiches in front of them. "Very good, Winky."

"T-thank you, M-malfoy. S-sir," she stammered before disapparating.

"Odd one, that elf," Scorpius said. Albus nodded and took a sandwich.

Scorpius was right, as Malfoys tended to be, Albus hadn't eaten anything relatively nutritious in weeks. He scarfed down sandwich after sandwich as Scorpius watched, contended.

"You have a 'keep out' sign stapled to your forehead," Scorpius said once Albus was finished stuffing himself.

"Well that explains it, it belongs on the door," Albus shot back. Scorpius just laughed and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

"You're always talking but you rarely say anything," said Scorpius, waiting for Albus' angry reaction.

Albus just hummed in agreement and let his head fall onto Scorpius' shoulder. He waited for Scorpius to feel disgusted and push him away.

He never did.

The blond's hand found it's way to the Albus' black vortex of hair and massaged his scalp. If he had the capacity Albus would have purred. For a moment Albus' thoughts of Slytherin conspiracies and Scorpius' thoughts of inter-house espionage were abandoned.

Scorpius brought a tentative finger to Albus' chin and lifted his head just enough that their lips were centimetres apart. Every quivering, warm breath from Albus' mouth hit Scorpius' lips and he shivered under the assault, trying to gather the nerve to forge onward.

Slowly, so very slowly, they gravitated towards one another until their lips were pressed together. Scorpius was sure the stars in their eyes matched perfectly and Albus was sure he had never felt more alive.

It was, in a word, perfect.

After what seemed an eternity they separated but the distance was far too much for either to bear. They leaned forward again, not quite in tandem. Scorpius' nose bumped into Albus' philtrum and they both jerked back.

While Albus looked terrified, certain he'd done something wrong, Scorpius just laughed . "We'll get better," he said.

"Next time?" asked Albus, fearing the answer.

"Definitely," Scorpius promised. "I should return you home or your guard dog might get worried." Albus nodded, not quite ready for words, and followed him out of the kitchens.

The walk was silent and awkward but hands holding hands, fingers laced together spoke volumes.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Scorpius said as they reached the riddling eagle.

"This is a dream," Albus responded.

"I'll call in a request to Charles Perrault that you never wake up, Princess."

"_La Belle au Bois Dormant_. Clever." They exchanged one more quick hug before Albus disappeared into the common room to search for some proof that the afternoon really wasn't a dream.

He settled onto his bed with a copy of _Contes de ma Mère l'Oy _because nothing was more realistic than fairy tales.

Hours and several nursery rhymes later, an owl tapped angrily on his window. It took him a minute to realize the tapping actually wasn't in his mind. The owl was not pleased. He nipped at his fingers incessantly until he was sufficiently rewarded by way of treats.

Before leaving he dropped a small package on the windowsill and bit Albus' fingers once more for effect.

After nursing his sore fingers, he hesitatingly unwrapped the box and pulled it open.

Underneath the layers of paper and cardboard was a clear glass jar filled with Sugar Quills. It took him a minute to find that there was a note attached, hopefully explaining the jar's existence.

In his widest imagination he never thought Scorpius Malfoy would ever be sending him letters, but there it was, a note written in his messy right-handed scrawl.

Terrified of the contents, he unfolded the parchment.

_Albus, _

_I managed to get in touch with a certain Frenchman and convinced him to let you dream for as long as you wish. I hope this works for you. _

_Don't let thoughts of yours truly distract you from your course work. You've an essay due to Professor Merrythought tomorrow, don't forget. _

_Yours,  
Scorpius _

_P.S. I've finally managed to find another jar. I do think this treat will be more acceptable to your sensitive pallet. Here's hoping we play again soon. _

His mind swam with thoughts, dreams and doubts. But it managed to focus in on one certain thought, one he'd never before considered.

Maybe it was time to take that 'keep out' sign down and finally allow someone through the door.


	5. Sainthood

**a/n** if you shared my fascination with google translate you would understand my jokes.

**Chapter Five - Sainthood**

"Good job, Malfoy. It seems you aren't as useless as you look." Scorpius scoffed, this coming from the boy who couldn't even get the target to talk to him. It was ridiculous.

That they were talking to him in itself was ridiculous. He'd been looking forward to a quiet afternoon alone in the common room, maybe catch up on his reading. Being friends with Albus Potter required an insurmountable amount of reading.

But with Curly and Larry in tow things were never quiet and never alone. They simply refused to stop babbling.

"What do we do with him now? A meeting, I think." Luc's slight French accent was even more grating than usual. Scorpius thought he sounded extremely whiney, like a hairless cat being denied milk.

"Not possible, thanks to your minion over there," he said, gesturing to Wickham.

"But he didn't even look at me!" Wickham cried out in obvious indignation. Scorpius wondered if he would even know what 'indignation' meant.

"You twit," Luc said, voicing Scorpius' thoughts for him. "Malfoy's right." Scorpius groaned, of course he was right. "We have to be more elusive," he said as if it was some ground-breaking statement.

So many insults, so little time.

"We can like, trick him into helping us," Wickham offered.

"Silly Turner, tricks are for kids." With that Scorpius made a swift exit. He was far too busy to indulge their 007 fancies for a moment longer.

"Wait," Wickham said to no one in particular, "I don't get it..."

After his dramatic depart from the Slytherin common room he found himself wandering toward the Great Hall. The habitual walk would, of course, be his downfall.

"Hey! Jordan Catalano, where's the fire!" a female voice called from behind him.

He froze in place, yet another mistake on his part. Without warning a death grip on his shoulder forced him to about face.

"I don't think I was walking particularly quickly." Nails began their descent into his flesh. Apparently, that was not an acceptable answer.

"What are you doing, Malfoy," Rilian Cunningham hissed. It took first-hand knowledge of her vast arsenal of hexes to keep his sarcastic remarks in check.

"I'm not doing anything, Cunningham," he answered in his best Andy Hardy impression.

"Teller of untruths, your trousers have combusted." Again with this hissing. People assumed her friendship with Albus had screwed with her brain but Scorpius knew better. She'd come out that way. Screwy from birth.

"My trousers are fine, Cunningham," he said in effort to appease her.

"He's important to me. I know how to spell his name."

"To me as well, I assure you." It wasn't technically a lie, Albus was dire to the plan.

She narrowed her eyes and turned on her heels, robes billowing behind her in a way that rivalled even Severus Snape's most dramatic exodus.

Well, at least he had a destination now. Rilian wasn't in the library which meant someone else was. And he was alone. It was the perfect time to salvage what was left of Curly and Larry's dim-witted plan. There were a few character traits Malfoys lacked, follow-through was not one of them.

Albus was perched in his usual chair by the window. He was half-hidden by mountainous stacks of books but he was, first and foremost, alone.

Perfect.

Scorpius tiptoed through the rows of books, humming the Mission Impossible theme under his breath. He sneaked up behind Albus and snaked his arms around his neck, placing a quick kiss on his cheek.

"What are you thinking about?" Scorpius asked.

Albus was of the belief that his mind was such a complex thing that no one could hope to understand him. In an effort to remedy this Scorpius had invented a game. He would ask what Albus was thinking about and Albus would answer, usually in a very brief, dismissive way.

"Sainthood," Albus answered, true to form.

"Elaborate," Scorpius said, initiating the second part of the game. The one in which he would prod Albus with questions until he could comprehend the prodigy's mind, if only for a moment.

"Catholic Patron Saints."

"I didn't know you were religious."

"I'm not, I'm obsessed."

"With Catholicism?"

"With Saints." Scorpius brow was quirked in a way that would suggest that Albus should explain. "Patron Saints are people associated with places, ailments, ideas. You contact these saints and they advocate to the deity God on your behalf."

"There are a lot of middle men involved in religion,"

"There are middle men involved in the mafia too. They don't have a Patron Saint. Saint Gabriel Possenti might be close enough."

"If you would fill in a few more blanks before you venture off on another tangent. I would be most appreciative."

"I don't like geometry much."

"Should we contact Saint Thomas, then?"

Albus face lit up the way it only did when Scorpius managed to keep up with him."Exactly. Who you take as your Patron Saint is very important."

"The mafia wouldn't have much luck with Saint Thomas."

"Mm," Albus agreed before lapsing back into silence.

"Who's the Patron Saint of whales?" Scorpius asked after a moment.

"Saint David." Albus answered automatically.

"Not Ishmael?"

"Nor Ahab," Albus confirmed.

"Hm." This was the kind of 'hm' that Albus understood meant more than agreement or disagreement. It was a loaded 'hm'. A foreboding 'hm'.

"So, you know..." Scorpius started and then trailed off.

"Yes, probably."

"You want I should leave you and your ego alone? There's hardly room for the three of us."

Albus scowled but nonetheless said, "No, continue."

"So the beginning of the book."

"Of Moby Dick?" Albus interrupted to clarify.

Scorpius nodded. "I was reading it – you recommended it, remember?" Of course he remembered, his memory rivalled that of elephants. Scorpius was just buying time while he puzzled the pieces of a plan together.

"I remember," Albus said. Scorpius hummed under his breath for a minute more before taking action. He climbed over the top of the armchair, skilfully avoiding Albus' body and squirming in next to him. It was important to have the high ground.

"You're sitting on me," stated Albus as if he couldn't quite believe it. Scorpius wiggled his hips in response. "It's like fractions," he continued, "it's improper when the larger one is one top."

"You want to top?" Scorpius asked, a vulgar glint shined in his eyes.

"Moby Dick," reminded Albus. At his young age he didn't think it was appropriate to discuss such things but Scorpius, being a bit older, chuckled at the innuendo.

"So the narrator–"

"Ishmael," Albus corrected.

"Right, the bloke says the ocean can rectify problems, balance your life. Feng shui for pirates, as it were."

"They were whalers. Whalers don't need feng shui."

"Pirates, whalers, same thing. Either way the ocean brings peace, serenity, et cetera, et cetera."

Albus blinked in disbelief. "The ocean was symbolic."

"Well I _literally_ need some balance."

"Will the Blake Lake suffice? It's the middle of the term. We cannot leave school to commandeer a boat."

"Grindylow Gummies," he said matter-of-factly.

These were a new confection on the market. A Weasley product consisting of ocean water, purified and solidified. In other words, disgusting. This led to Albus' argument of, "Not on your life, Malfoy."

"It's _symbolic_," Scorpius mimicked in return.

"Well if it's _symbolic_," Albus said finally. It was getting progressively harder to argue with the blond. He would have to find some way to remedy this but in the mean time, Scorpius was very pleased with the turn of events.

You see, everyone knew the Potters had Hogwarts wired. There was no corner of the castle left unturned by the family. If there was a way to slip from the castle undetected, Albus Potter would know. And it looked as if Scorpius was about to get the grand tour.

Albus sighed, pushed Scorpius off his lap, took his hand and led him from the library.

"Where are we going?" Scorpius asked.

"To meet a witch," Albus answered curtly. "Scorpius, meet Gunhilda. Gunhilda, Scorpius," Albus said as they approached a statue. If you squinted it looked kind of like a witch, Scorpius supposed. Or a wonky amphibious cyclops. It erred on the side of the cyclops.

Albus proceeded to gesture to the creeper statue in a way that would suggest Scorpius was to mount it or something equally horrendous.

"These are new robes," Scorpius said slowly, running his hands down the black fabric.

"In there lies your salvation."

Scorpius stared at Albus, trying to decipher if the double entendre was intentional. He eyes shined with innocents which made it all the more hilarious. If his salvation laid therein, Scorpius decided he had no choice but to enter the questionable passage.

It led to the basement of Honeydukes, the best place to pick up the desired candy. Albus pushed open the door and a gust of cold air blew over them, scattering the dust and filth around them.

Scorpius coughed, not from the air but from his flair for the dramatic. "Where are we?" he asked through gritted teeth. This was not a suitable environment for a Malfoy.

Albus laughed, pulled himself through the hole and offered a hand to Scorpius below. "Up," he commanded.

"I hardly think we're allowed to be here. Think, a _Potter_ sneaking to Hogsmeade in the dead of night," Scorpius said once he realized where they were.

"It's nine in the afternoon," Albus said, leading them to the storefront.

"It's nine in the morning," Scorpius remarked flippantly.

"Then you've answered your own question, haven't you." Albus glanced around the colourful room. It was hardly his scene but Grindylow Gummies weren't hard to locate. Being new, they had their own gaudy, green display.

"How delicately understated," Scorpius said, spotting the display as well.

"Well hurry up," Albus said, tapping his foot impatiently. Public venues made him a bit fussy and breaking rules exaggerated his irritability. The resulting mood was fairly unpleasant.

"Not used to being away from your library for this long?" beguiled Scorpius.

In response, Albus just huffed and walked off toward the basement. He'd already gotten everything he needed but Scorpius figured he might as well bring the candy along to keep up appearances. He brought a handful to the counter before racing off to find Albus.

"You're upset," said Scorpius as they made their way back to school.

"Your pants cling to your crotch in a way that makes you look perpetually erect." Scorpius jaw dropped and he stopped in place. "I'm sorry, I thought we were having a state the obvious competition," spat Albus.

Yes, he was obviously upset.

The ever smooth Scorpius was knocked off kilter but Malfoys always land on their feet.

"If it's all well and good with you I thought I'd continue in my stupidity for a moment."

"I've never known you to stop, regardless of my thoughts on the subject."

"You've no idea how sexy that sarcasm of yours is,"

Albus choked mid-breath. He wanted to seem unaffected but the way Scorpius just inserted the word 'sexy' into the conversation was wreaking havoc on his nerves. He heart clipped along at an alarming rate and he began breathing manually.

"I'm going to kiss you," said Scorpius. Then, in the middle of the dark, dingy basement with only the spiders to bear wittiness Scorpius held Albus' chin in his hands and pressed their lips together. It wasn't like their previous quick and fleeting kisses. It was a different breed altogether.

The kiss went on for what seemed a lifetime only pausing when there was dire need of oxygen. There were a few times Albus was sure it was coming to a close but then Scorpius would do something amazing with his tongue and it would start up all over again.

In all honesty, Albus didn't see the appeal of this for Scorpius. He was pretty sure he was so inept in the art of kissing that it was comparable to licking a wooden plank. One that held onto him for support, clinging to his shoulders for dear life.

Yes, a flattering picture indeed.

"That," Scorpius said once the kiss finally came to a close, "was better than I imagined it would be."

Sarcastic remarks died in his throat and he just nodded. Again with the ineptitude.

"I think we've need for a new Patron Saint. How do we go about that, is it like knighting?" Scorpius asked. Albus' knees quaked. It seemed rather illogical that kissing should cause strain on his knees and vocal chords yet it did. He would have to look into this phenomenon.

"Saint Padre Pio burned his hands with acid," Albus finally managed.

"Knighting seems safer," said Scorpius, nodding to himself. He craned his neck to whisper into Albus' ear. "I dub thee Saint Potter, Patron Saint of Secret Passageways."


	6. I My Me Mine

**a/n **i have an unhealthy obsession with shakespeare. and hyuna. mm, hyuna.

**Chapter Six – I My Me Mine**

__

When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul

Lends the tongue vows. These blazes, daughter,

Giving more light than heat,

"What's this guy on about?" Scorpius asked looking over his copy of _Hamlet. _They were in the library – again – and he sat comfortably atop Albus' boney lap. Since that fateful afternoon it had become his favourite perch, a terrific vantage point.

"You mean William Shakespeare, arguably the greatest playwright in history?" Albus asked, scandalized. Scorpius' position made his legs ache with pins and needles but he wasn't about to complain, even when the blond was insulting the King of Iambic Pentameter.

Scorpius nodded in conformation.

"Economists are very interested in giving off more light than heat. Better for the planet," Albus monotoned.

"So he's talking about science, light bulbs, the sun?"

"I'm not very good at science. Or math for that matter"

"You've got top marks in Arithmancy," Scorpius pointed out.

"Well I'm certainly better at it than say, you." He didn't mean it to sound callous; it was just true. While he held no special talent for mathematics he understood it better than most.

"I wasn't aware it took mathematical genius to set organs aflame." Scorpius scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Polonius is implying the connotation of the act rather than the denotation." Scorpius' brow knitted together as he tried to pick apart the explanation. It was very endearing but Albus decided to be kind and, for once, give a concrete answer. "He's saying setting the man on fire will achieve results whereas burning his heart will only leave both parties frustrated."

"Well he should just say that, shouldn't he," argued Scorpius.

"People never say what they mean. Too afraid of disappointment so it's best to build a wall of elusions."

"Are you afraid of disappointment?" Scorpius asked, quirking his head to the side.

"There is nothing to fear but fear itself," Albus quoted automatically.

"And you say I have an affair with American exceptionalism."

"Fear itself and arachnids," Albus amended.

"Are you afraid of me, Albus?" he asked.

Albus' innate brilliance not extending into the realm of romanticism, he just stared at his lap, suddenly entranced with his fingers.

Scorpius was having none of that. "If Merlin should lend me ear, hear my payer that this unholy, wilful boy shall never from me surrendered be." Albus tried to ask where he was quoting from or from where such talent of tongue had been conceived but in that moment Scorpius mouth sealed over his own, leaving him very much unable to speak.

Where Scorpius' body was all sharp angles and hard muscle, his lips were petal soft and malleable against Albus' own. No matter how many times they did this, Albus doubted he would ever tire of it.

"You've improved considerably," Scorpius said once they separated.

"I've had an excellent teacher."

"Really? Who?" Scorpius asked, trying to sound coy.

"A boy I've run across in the corridors." Scorpius growled in a way that would suggest he was jealous which Albus thought was ridiculous. He almost commented on it but something caught his eye.

Or rather, someone.

"Speaking of boys in corridors, I think that one over there wants you to go make love to him," he said nodding to a mysterious character standing in the corner. Scorpius glanced over to see what Albus was talking about and sure enough, there was Wickham Turner.

He should have known. Never quiet and never alone.

"Just ignore him," Scorpius dismissed as he wrapped his arms around Albus.

"If you ignore your problems they come back to haunt you as jars of sugar quills." Scorpius chuckled but seemed to agree. Reluctantly, he extricated himself from Albus and got up.

"I'll only be a moment," he promised before strolling over to Wickham.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure, Turner?"

"You're getting pretty cozy with Potter over there." Wickham's tone was casual but even Scorpius understood the hidden meaning in his words, the threats they implied.

"This is hardly the place. Let's take this discussion elsewhere," He answered calmly. He gave Albus a half-hearted wave and gestured for Wickham to follow him to the corridor.

"He fulfilled his role. Just leave him."

"But wouldn't it be horrible if he found out that you used him?" Wickham goaded, "that the only reason you're with him is to exploit him."

"I fixed your trivial prank, brought it back from the depths of ineffectiveness. Leave Albus out of this."

"Albus, is it now? See what happens when you name _it_, you get attached to _it_." He sighed and clicked his tongue with mock disdain. "But, you've fixed nothing so if you want to keep your little pet you best come along," he said cryptically, taking off toward the Slytherin common room leaving Scorpius to follow.

Unfamiliar rage boiled. He saw red. And green. Anger, jealousy and Christmas all played on the back of his eyelids. How could he have been so utterly, unfathomablystupid?

Assumptions had no place in his world and he'd made so many he could hardly see straight. Assuming Wickham Turner was clueless deadweight, assuming the Cottingley-esque prank wouldn't fall apart and, it seemed, assuming he had control over his emotions. Danger, Will Robinson. Danger.

Over the past few weeks he'd grown to hate the Slytherin chambers. The room was overflowing with boxes of Puking Pastilles, all ready to be transfigured into peppermint candy lookalikes. At this level the devious artifice just seemed like a mess of monumental proportions. Which, of course, it was. Until he managed to sort it. Again.

The problem, as it turned out, was that once they got the prank candy on the table there was a good chance that at least a few students would dive in before the rest thus spoiling the surprise for anyone who might have later tried the vomit inducing snack. Bringing things to a screeching halt before they even began.

And that was simply not an option.

It was clear after the impromptu meeting that Albus' role in this was hardly complete, that he was more to the plan than simply an expert in Hogwarts architectures. It was also clear that while Albus' role was pivotal, Scorpius was little more than an over glorified babysitter. He didn't like this, no, he didn't like this at all.

That he was simply a pawn in Toulour and Turner's game was unthinkable so he banished all related thoughts from his mind. He chose instead to concentrate on a more pressing, task, that of finding Albus who had miraculously, albeit inconveniently, vanished from the library.

Just as he was about to give up his hunt a group of Ravenclaw Quidditch players mentioned they's seen him at the pitch. It made since since that was the only place he hadn't looked, assuming Albus would rather attend a Yule Ball held by Chris Hargensen than spend any amount of time on the pitch. But there he was, sitting in the top row of seats.

"But soft," he called up to Albus who was, of course, reading. "What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East and Juliet is the sun." He looked up to Albus expectantly, assuming he would be swooning, his heart all a flutter.

But you know what they say about assumptions.

"Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon. Who is already sick and pale with grief." He stopped there to grimace at the idea of calling himself such things, but it seemed to get Albus' attention.

"For this drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole," Albus called down, not bothering to spare Scorpius even a single glance.

"Now I'd say that was uncalled for, I profess my love, my dying need for you, compare thee to the sun. And you call me an idiot."

"An idiot controlled by his genitals, yes." Scorpius huffed and trotted up the endless stairs. It was times like this that he really wished spent more time outside. The air felt heavy in his lungs and he was out of breath by the time he reached the top.

"You really think so low of me?"

Albus sighed and turned away from the blond but Scorpius seemed to have other ideas. He smiled and curled his fingers around Albus' chin, placing a quick kiss on his lips.

"O apothecary, thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss, I die," Scorpius said dramatically.

"O true apothecary," Albus corrected. Scorpius frowned in disapproval.

"You just can't let anything go, can you?" he said, crossing his arms over his chest indignantly.

"Gloves, I note you have none, but that of Venus," Albus joked, still playing his own little game.

"Why do you do that? Why do you have to exert your mental superiority over everyone at every given moment." He was really not in the mood for this. A mission he was on, help he needed, but being insulted with puns he didn't understand was definitely not on his to-do list.

"Because I am mentally superior," Albus said, confused as to why Scorpius didn't already know, or why he thought it was so bad.

"You, Albus Potter, give out more light than heat."

"Am I a light bulb now? Perhaps the sun, such responsibility."

"Nothing quite so fantastic. You know but you don't feel, do you? You're just a vessel for knowledge, devoid of real emotion," Scorpius explained, hoping Albus would contradict him.

Unfortunately he just said, "Maybe you're right."

"Maybe you just aren't as clever as you'd like to think."

"No, I really am," said Albus seriously, his voice lacking the jovial air on which Scorpius was depending.

After several minutes of uncomfortable silence Scorpius finally asked, "What are you doing out here anyway?"

"Ravenclaw is training their new Seeker and he falls a lot," said Albus cheerfully, blissfully unaware of the tension in the air.

"I suppose that's why they chose you," Scorpius deadpanned, schooling himself into indifference.

"Who chose me?"

"Come on," Scorpius said as he stood up and offered a hand to Albus. "There are some people you should meet."


	7. Loaded Gun

**a/n **i nearly drowned committing social suicide.

**Chapter Three – Loaded Gun**

There were a lot of things that Albus Potter was good at. He could discuss Kantian political theory, compare and contrast the philosophies of Moliere and Locke, understand Heisenberg's Principle of Uncertainty, admire and appreciate the periods of Picasso and solve for limits and infinitesimals. He spoke seven languages fluently including Latin and Farsi and had been accepted to the most prestigious universities in the world by the age of twelve.

Saying that the kid was talented or astonishingly brilliant would be a gross understatement.

Saying that he was a social butterfly or at all comfortable around people his own age would be a lie.

Now, he was sure the people around him were speaking English (albeit some broken form filled with shortened words and mutilated sentences) but there wasn't a word he understood.

His mind kept getting stuck on this one little problem. Scorpius, (a boy he spent entirely too much time kissing for it not to count as a boyfriend thing_)_ had dragged him to the Slytherin common room, dropped him in the middle of some sort of nefarious gathering and left him to fend for himself.

In the Slytherin common room.

Alone.

In his head, the last thirty minutes of his life played on replay. How had he gotten here? Is this all he was worth to Scorpius? Is this why he had sought him out in the first place? And seriously, what was going on here?

For Albus, who was accustomed to having all of the answers, having this many questions was simply unacceptable. With great effort, he managed to pull himself together and concentrate on the conversation playing out in front of him.

There were five of them in all – people that is. Five kids dressed in identical Slytherin robes. Green, silver and black as far as the eye could see. At first glance it seemed like a total sausage fest until the petite blonde across from him spoke up. Her hair was cropped off to be shorter than Scorpius' and was a shade or two darker. She had all the curves of a twig and probably only weighed as much.

Her voice was the only clue that she wasn't erectionally equipped. It held a pitch somewhere between a cooing infant and nails on a chalkboard. And apparently, she only used it to throw out half-assed insults.

Albus hated her.

It didn't take long for him to catch the drift of what they were bickering about. It soothed him. Other peoples' problems, he could handle that. But from what he'd heard so far he wasn't sure this was a problem that deserved to be solved. The only thing that kept him from walking out (aside from paralysing fear of being hexed to next week) was that Scorpius had brought him here. Scorpius wanted him here. So he spoke.

"You are not being very logical," Albus said, trying to sound sure of himself, trying to keep his voice from quivering.

Five heads jerked around to stare.

That wasn't unnerving at all. Nope.

"Occam's razor," he tried again. And got five blank stares for his trouble. "The simplest way is always the most effective," explained Albus. "You're plan is unstable because you're convoluting it unnecessarily."

"Then what do you suggest, huh?" snapped the twiggy girl. That was a nice name, Albus decided, Twiggy the Terrible.

"The Vikings commonly used birds for navigation. Usually ravens," Albus announced offhandedly.

He got five blank stares for his trouble. And then one, "But I thought Vikings lived in Minnesota." Albus fought the urge to face palm. Seriously, weren't Slytherins supposed to be smart? He was not impressed.

"Um, no. But whatever this is." He waved his arm over the parchment and such that littered the table. "It isn't going to work. There's too much you're disregarding." He tapped his chin and studiously avoided eye contact.

"I'm not helping, either," he informed them. "What I said still stands."

"What you said?" Twiggy demanded angrily.

"Turner, study hall, obvious transparency." Albus flitted his hand over his shoulder in feigned disinterest. Right before Scorpius, his brain supplied. "Yes, thank you," he answered. And then realised what he'd just done.

Well, it wasn't like there was anyone interesting to talk to. The silence that permeated the room was so loud that Albus thought he was going deaf. Albus counted the granite tiles under his feet until Twiggy the Terrible decided to overlook his obvious mental illness and forge onward.

"Now, I do wonder what little Scorpius would think. I'm sure he would be ever so disappointed," Twiggy commented. She looked rather haughty, examining her nails like she was ten different kinds of awesome.

"Is that what the past few weeks have been, some bizarre Slytherin form of the transitive property?"Albus frowned and counted back all of the conversational subtext, heated glances and stolen kisses. Was he really so naïve?

"So what if it was?" Twiggy challenged.

Yes, yes he was.

"So this is it, huh? The 'either your brains or your signature are going to be on the contract' part of the negotiation. Lovely." He scratched at his head. His brain was quite content residing in his skull and he would rather preferred it that way.

Twiggy smirked. His agreement was eminent, he'd be eating out of her hand faster than you could say–

"Tea," Albus decided. "Tea would be good right now. And fish fingers." He glanced around the room once more before adding, "Custard. Fish Custard." He was just in that kind of mood.

"Excuse me?" Twiggy snarled, her tiny mouth twisting with disgust. She seemed to be the only one in the room who hadn't lost the ability to speak. Though he had already decided to hate her, he respected her for that, at least.

"Yes, Charlie. This isn't Khe Sanh. Send one of your lackeys if you'd rather. It isn't as though they're contributing anything useful." He gestured to the other four around the table, who were all slack-jawed and stary-eyed.

Unsurprisingly, it took a few minutes before she got around to formulating a snippy retort. "You just said you weren't going to help." And just for effect, she tapped her nails impatiently against the table. Tap, tap, tap, tap.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

"Not like you're giving me much choice," he grumbled under his breath. "And besides, I will not be _helping_. I will be reconstructing the entire thing and starting from scratch. That is, doing all of the work for you and –"

He paused and glared across the table. "Tea, fish fingers, custard. It's not as though I'm asking you to build a raft, Jim." He huffed and waved an impatient hand in the direction of the door.

Or, at least, what he thought was the direction of the door.

Four cups of tea, several fish fingers and an hour later Albus had picked through and organised every single bit of parchment on the table. And then spent another few minutes trying to decide whether or not to just Evanesco the whole thing.

"Well?" Twiggy demanded. Her eyes were trained on his fingers as he tore at the corners of all her hard work.

"_Well,_ it would make Kadhum and Lindgren feel a lot better about the whole Rembrandt thing." He sat back and stretched out his cramped muscles. In spite of everything, it actually felt pretty good to have an project again. Something to occupy his mind, keep it off other things.

Stupid, rat bastard Scorpius.

Casting a quick Tempus, Albus decided it was time for him to make his exit. "Don't touch this," he snapped at Twiggy. She seemed like the kind of person who would make a mess of other peoples' work.

"Are you done?" she snapped. Albus bit back about a million snide remarks.

Standing, he brushed at the nonexistent lint on his jumper and made to walk away. "Mm, if only. But fear not, I'm sure it won't be long before you send Malfoy after me." At this, Twiggy laughed. Or at least, would have laughed if such noises were part of her repertoire. Instead she more or less cackled. Like she was the fuckin' Wicked Witch of the East or something.

Albus shuddered and made a beeline for the door, not stopping until he was in the comfort of his own common room.

It felt like it had been ages sine he'd been home, away from the Slytherin world of double talk and backstabbing. In reality it hadn't been more than a few hours. Slytherins lived in their own time zone, he decided. Like the Twilight Zone, only without the catchy theme song.

Stupid, rat bastard Scorpius.

"You missed dinner," Rilian's voice called from in front of the fire.

"Yes," he agreed, making his way to her side. "I was planning dastardly deeds."

"Lost then, were you?"

"Well I never did get that map." She nodded solemnly, twining her fingers in her pitch black hair and pulling it into a customary braid. "Speaking of lost," he started.

"The Poppy Flowers, I know. But it's too bad about Cupid," she finished for him. He rolled his eyes but really, he loved it.

"Just a copy cat though, from 1978." He shrugged like art theft was something to scoff at, like breaking priceless statues was nothing.

"You think you could do better then, Octave?" She quirked a brow, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, Henk. I do," he answered honestly.

"Too bad that whole 'prodigy' thing doesn't extend into the more emotional aspects of life, eh?" Albus groaned, sometimes even he couldn't follow their conversations. How did they end up here, anyway?

"I've always though that it should be possible to put an equation behind romantic relationships, given the attainability of data and limited number of outcomes."

"You're not very good at math," she reminded him. "Have you reached your outcome yet?" A rather ugly, noncommittal noise retched itself from the back of Albus' throat. Rilian sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Not yet," he said. "Don't be sorry yet."

"Has anyone ever told you that you have major avoidance issues?" she inquired.

In response, he wiped at his nose with his sleeve and wondered why emotions always made his nose run. There had to be an answer to that as well. He would look into it after perfecting his relationship equation but before his 8,000 page manuscript on railroad traffic signals.

"You wanna talk about it?" She poked methodically at his side. He wasn't ticklish or anything, just soft. But he still found the annoying, familiar gesture comforting.

"Not yet. Because when I do it will hurt."

"Can you read over my history essay? I always get so confused when I write about unicorns."

Albus sighed dramatically. Girls and their unicorns, honestly. He stood and wondered off to find his good editing quill.

Because that was how friendship worked.

* * *

**a/n **it's okay if you don't get my child prodigy jokes or art heist references. no one else does either.

also, it is at this point that i feel the need to thank Chaotic Meow for reading all the shit i write and pointing out the things that don't translate well from the recesses of my brain to the computer screen. so, if this chapter didn't make sense to you, just imagine how that kid must feel.


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